


Pigments

by Ikira



Series: Klance Week 2016 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Attempted painting, For once it's Lance with the skills while Keith is struggling, Keith really doesn't mind, Klance Week 2016, Klance Week 2016: Red/Blue, M/M, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikira/pseuds/Ikira
Summary: After stumbling upon some alien painting supplies, Keith and Lance decide to try painting for a while. Keith also takes it as a rare but much appreciated opportunity to spend time with Lance without squabbling.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Klance Week on tumblr AGES ago but didn't get a chance to post it here until now. Better late than never, right?

“Where did you even find these things?” Keith asked incredulously, even as he scrunched up his nose in concentration and considered his next move.

 

“Storage closet,” Lance responded, equally absorbed in his task. “I was actually looking for shampoo, but this is almost as good.”

 

“Weird,” Keith muttered, but he didn’t stop working. Instead he dipped the alien paintbrush in his hand into the jar of pigment, making sure the strange silky bristles were completely coated. He tapped off the excess, and then he brought the brush back to the canvas in front of him. With the steadiest hand he could muster, he pressed the brush down and started dragging it across the canvas, leaving a long stroke of crimson in its wake.

 

He had stumbled upon Lance’s discovery on his way to the kitchen to grab a late night snack. He’d found the blue paladin set up in the lounge, surrounded by stained strips of fabric, shimmery canvases stretched over metallic frames, paintbrushes that seemed to be tipped with some kind of animal fur, and dozens of coloured jars. When he’d picked one up to investigate, he’d discovered they contained coloured loose powders in a hundred different shades, more than he’d ever seen in one place.

 

Lance himself was surrounded by several jars already, each in various shades of blue, the canvas in front of him already starting to look like some kind of underwater scene. He’d been working so intently, he’d jumped when Keith spoke up to ask him what he was doing, and he nearly ruined his work. Thankfully the jerky brushstroke that resulted could be easily hidden with more blending. He’d snorted when Keith had decided to join him on the floor, grabbing a canvas of his own, but he hadn’t otherwise commented, and Keith was free to try painting in peace.

 

Keith finished the rough outline of what he was trying to paint; his lion flying through space. He wasn’t much of an artist, though. He was pretty sure he’d be lucky if Red was even recognizable at all. But it was still oddly relaxing to just create something for once. The brush felt nice in his hand, and he loved the way the colours spread across the canvas as he worked. Maybe, if it didn’t turn out too badly, he’d actually show Red. She might appreciate it.

 

Dipping his paintbrush into the jar to coat it, he couldn’t help but marvel as once again, the powder seemed to become a liquid wherever the brush touched it, eliminating the need for mixing paints. Alteans had created such amazing things, beyond just Voltron. He couldn’t help wondering absently what other strange technologies might be hiding in the bowels of this ancient castle.

 

He and Lance had been working for about half an hour when he heard Lance let out a soft grunt. The noise caught his attention, after sitting so long in silence, and he looked over just in time to see Lance stretching his arms out above his head, the motion drawing his t-shirt up to reveal a tiny stretch of skin that drew Keith’s eyes despite himself.

 

Lance was annoying as hell sometimes, but Keith couldn’t deny the fact that he was also pretty damn _fine_ too. Lance’s skin always looked sun-kissed, even though none of them had seen true sunlight in weeks at least, and his smile, when he smiled for real? Not one of his smirks or wannabe lady-killer looks? It made Keith’s heart stutter in his chest. Every time he saw Lance talking to Hunk or Pidge, acting casual with them and actually treating them like friends and fellow human beings instead of some kind of challenge to overcome, he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that spiked in his stomach. He wished it could be like that with him and Lance, but Lance was too stuck on this petty rivalry thing and he was too socially awkward. Nothing seemed to help.

 

Keith fought back a sigh. He was self-aware enough to realize that this stupid crush was just that – stupid, and that it would probably blow up in his face one of these days. But he couldn’t help it, he knew what he liked. And Lance, as much as he hated to admit it, was what he liked. Even now, his eyes were still roaming over Lance’s back and shoulders, admiring the little flashes of skin he could see and the way his muscles shifted.

 

But then his eyes drifted past Lance’s body to the painting he had been working on, and Keith’s jaw dropped open in shock.

 

“Lance!” he gasped. Before he knew what he was doing, he abandoned his own work to scoot over to where Lance was sitting on the floor.

 

“W-what?” Lance squawked, startled by Keith’s outburst and sudden appearance. With a squeal, he overbalanced and tipped over, falling flat on his back. “Ow. What the heck, Keith?!”

 

But Keith was too busy staring at Lance’s painting in open wonder. When he’d first arrived he’d just been able to make out what looked like a water scene, based on all the blue. But now the painting had really come along, becoming a beach, with sparkling waves lapping at a sandy shore while fluffy white clouds rolled overhead. The beach was still just a splash of yellow with minimal shading, but the waves were so detailed Keith felt like he could reach out and sink his hands into them. The painting was absolutely gorgeous.

 

“Lance,” he breathed, his eyes still fixed on the painting. “Lance, this is _amazing_. Where did you learn to do this?”

 

“Oh yeah? Well _you’re_ a – wait, what?” Lance cut his half-formed insult off as what Keith had said actually sank in. “What, painting?”

 

“Yeah.” Keith finally dragged his gaze from the image, looking back at Lance. He was mildly surprised to see Lance actually duck his head, looking a bit shy for once. Keith never thought he’d live to see the day.

 

“Uh, it’s really not _that_ good,” Lance tried to brush it off, which surprised Keith even more. Lance never passed up an opportunity to brag.

 

Confused, Keith couldn’t help but press the issue. “But it is. It looks really good.”

 

“I, uh, thanks, I guess?” Lance chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “My mom made me sign up for a painting class when I was fourteen because my little sister wanted to go and she didn’t want to go alone. I hated it! We just sat there and painted fruit bowls. But Sara wanted to go, and I couldn’t say no to her. So I went for a whole year.”

 

He leaned back, resting on his arms, and gestured to the painting. “The one thing I didn’t mind painting was the ocean. I don’t know, something about it just called to me. So I painted it as often as I could get away with it for those classes, and now I guess it’s just something I can do. Don’t ask me to paint anything else, though. The best you’ll get is a blob.”

 

“At least it would still be better than mine,” Keith offered, eager to keep this conversation going. This was the most he and Lance had ever spoken without it dissolving into an argument, and he wanted to stretch it out for as long as he could. “Can you even tell what I was trying to do?”

 

Lance looked over to Keith’s canvas, tilting his head, considering. “Is it, uh…a fire truck?”

 

“Ouch,” Keith said good-naturedly. Although a fire truck was at least _somewhat_ close. “It’s supposed to be Red.”

 

“Oh, _wow_. Really?” Lance started laughing, his head thrown back. “Oh my god, that’s awful!”

 

“Hey, shut up,” Keith growled, shoving at Lance’s shoulder. There was absolutely no venom in his voice, though; Lance’s laugh was so real, so genuine, that Keith couldn’t bring himself to be angry. This was the happiest he’d ever seen Lance.

 

It took Lance almost a full minute to calm down. When his laughter finally died down to a few tiny giggles, Lance leaned over, rubbing tears from his eyes, and picked up Keith’s abandoned brush.

 

“Here, let’s see if we can salvage this mess,” he smirked, offering the brush to Keith like a challenge. Keith snatched it up, his pride demanding that he rise to the occasion. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he dipped the brush in the pigment jar, and brought it back to the canvas.

 

“Stop,” Lance said immediately the moment Keith’s brush touched down.

 

“What?” Keith looked over at him, baffled. He hadn’t even _done_ anything yet! “What’s wrong?”

 

“You’re holding the brush all crooked, that’s what’s wrong,” Lance huffed. And then he moved closer and reached out and then _oh my god Lance was holding him in his arms_.

 

Well, more like he was grabbing Keith to show him how to properly grip the paintbrush. But in order to do so, Lance had moved so that his chest was pressed against Keith’s back, his legs spread on either side of Keith’s hips, and his hand closing around Keith’s on the brush. Still, he was awfully close, closer even than the time they’d worked together to defeat Sendak and Lance had collapsed into his arms.

 

Keith swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very warm.

 

“Here,” Lance murmured, his breath tickling the shell of Keith’s ear. “You’re holding it like you’re going to stab someone, you gotta hold it more like a pencil, dude. Yeah, there you go.”

 

Keith’s fingers were trembling slightly as Lance readjusted his grip with a careful touch. Then, Lance guiding them, together they brought the paintbrush in a long, smooth stroke along the canvas. A small part of Keith’s brain could appreciate that the new grip allowed the width of the line to change, depending on how much pressure was applied.

 

The rest of his brain was screaming while klaxons blared and everything was on fire.

 

“There, see?” Lance said, pulling back the brush to admire their work. “Already a bit better. Man, I’m good.”

 

Keith would have loved to agree, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to actually absorb what he was looking at. All of his focus had narrowed to the heat at his back, the legs around him, and the hand on his own.

 

“Do you want me to keep helping you?” Lance asked, a hint of superiority in his tone. Clearly he was enjoying being better than Keith at something for once. Keith would have been annoyed, but Lance still hadn’t let go of his hand. Part of him really wanted to say yes, to ask for Lance to keep helping him, because that would mean staying like this in Lance’s arms for a lot longer. But a smarter part of him realized that was a Bad Idea.

 

_Abort, abort!_ He mentally screamed.

 

“Uh, t-that’s okay. I think I’m done for today, anyways,” Keith said, hastily climbing to his feet. He moved so quickly he actually knocked Lance over, but he didn’t bother to check on the other paladin. Instead he left the room as fast as he could, hoping Lance couldn’t see how red his face was.

 

Back in the lounge, Lance managed to push himself up just in time to watch Keith stalk out the door.

 

He smiled.

 

“Man, I love watching you go,” he muttered to himself, his eyes glued to Keith’s ass as he walked away. Then, as soon as Keith was gone, he turned back to his paint supplies.

 

Maybe his attempt at flirting with Keith hadn’t worked this time, but hey, at least he could finish his painting.


End file.
